Dawn of All eBook

It was half an hour before he stood up, with one determination
at least formed in his mind—­that he would
consult no one. He had learnt in the last few
weeks sufficient distrust of himself to refrain from
formulating conclusions too soon, and he learnt enough
of the world in which he found himself to understand
that positions accepted as self-evident by society
in general, which yet seemed impossible to himself,
after all occasionally turned out to be at least not
ridiculous.

But to think that it was the young monk with whom
he had talked at Lourdes who was to be the centre
of the process he himself had to prepare! . . .
He understood now some of the hints that Dom Adrian
Bennett had let fall.

(III)

A card was brought up to him a couple of evenings
later as he sat at his desk; and as he turned it over
Father Jervis himself hurried in.

“May I speak to you alone an instant?”
he said; and glanced at the secretaries, who rose
and went out without a word.

“You look unwell,” said the old priest
keenly, as he sat down.

Monsignor waved a deprecatory hand.

“Well—­I’m glad I caught you
in time,” went on the other. “I saw
the man come in; and wondered whether you knew about
him.”

“Mr. Hardy?”

“Yes—­James Hardy.”

“Well—­I just know he’s not
a Catholic; and something of a politician.”

“Well, he’s quite the shrewdest man the
secularists have got. He’s a complete materialist.
And I’ve not the slightest doubt he’s
heard of your illness and has come to see whether he
can fish anything out of you. He’s exceedingly
plausible; and very dangerous. I don’t
know what he’s come about, but you may be certain
it’s something important. It may be to do
with the Religious Houses; or the Bill for the re-establishment
of the Church. But you may depend upon it, it’s
something vital. I thought I’d better remind
you who he is.”

The priest stood up.

“Thank you very much, father. Is there
anything else? Have you any news for me?”

Father Jervis smiled.

“No, Monsignor. You know more than I do,
now. . . . Well, I’ll tell Mr. Hardy you’ll
see him. Number one parlour?”

“That’ll do very well. Thanks.”

It was growing towards dusk as Monsignor Masterman
passed down the corridor a few minutes later; and
he paused a moment to glance out upon the London street
through the tall window at the end. Not that
there was anything particular to be seen there; indeed
the street, at the moment he looked, was entirely empty.
But he looked up for an instant at the great electric
news-sheet where the headlines were displayed, above
the corner shop on the way to Victoria Street where
the papers were sold. But there was no news.
There was the usual announcement of the weather conditions,
a reference to one or two land-cases, and a political
statement.